


Brightly Burning

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Brightly Burning [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-05
Updated: 2006-04-05
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: “Got a light?” The smile seemed genuine; bright and wild, just a little flirtatious. Dom’s throat was dry. It had been ages since he’d done this, since he’d felt like taking this sort of chance. He didn’t know what he was doing here.





	Brightly Burning

**Author's Note:**

> RENT-trips, for my beloved [](https://ipso--facto.livejournal.com/profile)[ipso__facto](https://ipso--facto.livejournal.com/). Edited by the overworked and underpaid [](https://impasto.livejournal.com/profile)[impasto](https://impasto.livejournal.com/). A remix of sorts, based on the rock opera _RENT_ by Jonathan Larson, which is in turn based on the opera _La Boheme_ by Puccini.

“Take your AZT,” was the last thing Billy said as he closed the door to the loft behind him; shutting the rest of the world out, shutting Dom in. He knew Billy wanted him to come out tonight, to catch some air and pretend, at least as much as anyone _could_ pretend such a thing, that he wasn’t dying.

Dom preferred to stay in.

Being outside with other people rubbed him raw, salt on old wounds; watching people being happy together, living their lives, ignorant in bliss. He was past all that; no wool over his eyes, not anymore. Dom curled up on the sagging couch and dug around between the cushions until he came up with a bottle of black nail varnish; oily but still half-full, rescued from a bin in the hallway.

The knock on the door startled him, and he looked around before unfolding himself from the couch and crossing to open the door. Billy must have forgotten his keys, and decided to come back now so he didn’t have to wake Dom up later. Thoughtful, that was Billy. New York hadn’t hardened him up the way it had Dom.

“Forget your…” was as far as Dom got; because the boy standing in the hallway with his hands shoved into his pockets wasn’t Billy, not at all.

“Hey,” the boy said, angling a look up at Dom through lashes made thick with mascara, shading alluringly kohl-lined eyes. Huge eyes, and deep blue, like the colour of the oceans Dom thought he’d forgotten.

“Hey,” Dom managed, tongue too big in his mouth for the greeting to be anything but awkward. “Can I help you?”

“Got a light?” The smile seemed genuine; bright and wild, just a little flirtatious. Dom’s throat was dry. It had been ages since he’d done this, since he’d felt like taking this sort of chance. He didn’t know what he was doing here.

“Uh, yeah. Come in.” He winced at the state of the loft; he and Billy didn’t get many visitors, and it showed. The only upside was that New York winters were so cold that they burned everything they could, which didn’t leave much in the way of trash.

Or furniture. Dom winced again.

He found a matchbook in the cupboard, with three cardboard-flimsy matches still inside. He supposed they’d do, if the kid just wanted a cigarette. He wiped his palms on his jeans and told himself to chill, ripping off one of the matches and holding it angled to strike.

The boy was looking around, but he stopped when Dom turned around again, and pulled a white pillar candle out of his pocket. Dom’s eyes flicked from the candle, to the face, to the hand trembling around the wax. Ah. He’d seen enough junkies – _been_ one for long enough – to recognize the signs now.

“Matches,” the boy said, a smirk teasing his full lips. “How archaic.”

“Yeah, well,” Dom replied brilliantly, striking the flimsy match and holding it up to the black-crusted wick. “They were complimentary.” He flipped the matchbook over when the flame caught to display the bar logo on the back. “You take what you can get.”

Now that he knew, he could see the relief in the boy’s eyes when the candle was lit, knew that the boy’s blood must be singing a chorus of _not long now_ to the accompaniment of chills and a headache. As if on cue, the hand holding the candle trembled, and the melting wax shuddered, almost dousing the flame.

“Careful,” Dom warned, placing his own hand around the boy’s to steady it; although secretly, he was thinking that it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing for the candle to go out, for the boy not to end up strung out on coke tonight while he went out to wherever he was going. He knew it would take more than that to stop a junkie, though, and the kid was thin enough – not to mention ill enough – that he had to be an addict.

“Thanks,” the boy murmured, lush lips moving slowly around the word. Dom realized too late that he’d been staring, and jerked his eyes up, heat touching his cheeks. The boy was smirking at him again, but there was warmth in his gaze, an open invitation.

“You’re shaking,” Dom said, like an idiot. The smirk grew into a smile, but now the boy pulled away, breaking contact. Dom recognized the withdrawal, barriers going back up now that they were touching on subjects the boy probably didn’t want him discussing.

“It’s cold in the winter,” the boy pointed out. “My apartment is fucking freezing. They turn the heat off here, too?” Dom nodded, still entranced by the boy’s eyes – so blue, God – and trying hard not to show it. He hadn’t seen anyone besides Billy in so long…months, even. Not anyone who wasn’t a speck on the ground, several stories below them, through the dirty glass of a closed window.

“You’re staring,” the boy whispered, and he was so close that Dom jerked back, startled at how completely he’d lost himself. The boy didn’t seem put off by it, though. More…curious. He could be a hustler, it would fit. The drugs, the makeup, the outfit…the shirt he was wearing wasn’t made for winter, sheer black mesh that clung to his torso, and leather trousers that left very little to the imagination. Dom swallowed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and the boy grinned. “You just…your eyes,” he explained lamely, trying to shrug it off as nothing. It hadn’t been, though. It was enough like _something_ to make the pit of his belly ache queasily. “They’re very unusual.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” the kid replied, and there was enough humour in his tone for Dom to recognize it as mockery. “Big and blue, go figure.”

“You remind me of…” Dom began, and then stopped, aware that he was going to look like an idiot now either way. “The ocean.” He shrugged, dropping his eyes and flipping the matchbook shut. “Anyway…”

“Yeah.” The boy took a step backwards, and Dom thought he saw regret in those eyes, but it could have been anything. The kid was probably desperate for a hit by now, and Dom was only keeping him from it. “Thanks.”

“No problem…hey.” Dom caught the kid’s arm as he suddenly staggered, felt the clamminess of skin beneath his. “Are you okay?”

His hand was shrugged off, a bright smile plastered onto the boy’s face. “Yeah, fine. Sorry, low blood sugar. Guess I need to eat something, huh?” His smile was brittle, and Dom knew the lies behind it, his own heart sinking. _No money for food, because the money had been spent on drugs. Can’t work to make money, too ill from withdrawal._ He knew the routine, inside and out.

“Fuck,” the boy said suddenly, and Dom blinked, saw his gaze directed at the white candle in his hand, now doused and releasing a thin trail of smoke from the wick. “It’s…could you…?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Dom agreed, opening the matchbook again and breaking off another, striking to light it and cupping his hand around the flame. It was a cheap intimacy, but it was more than he’d had in a long time, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to pass it up. The boy’s fingers were brushing his, and their heads were bent close together as the match nudged the wick. Fuck. He shouldn’t be torturing himself like this. Better not to see, than to see and not be able to have.

“Thanks,” the boy said again, eyelashes lowered seductively, and Dom wondered if he was actually being picked up, if this kid thought he might be a john, or if it was more than that. He closed his eyes and swallowed, waved the match out and took a step back.

The boy shook again, withdrawal tremors marking the passage of too much time between scores, and this time the candle tipped too far, and a bright trail of wax spilled over the side onto his fingers, trickled into the webbing.

“Fuck,” the boy hissed, and Dom took three steps forward before he had a chance to think, bringing the boy’s hand to his lips and blowing on it to cool the burn. His face warmed when he realized how foolish this must look, and there were spots of colour on the boy’s cheekbones as well, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“The wax…burned,” Dom stuttered, and the boy shook his head, smiled.

“I don’t mind,” he murmured, and Dom’s brain had to take a second to process that, before the full import of the boy’s flush hit him and oh, _oh_ , fuck, he didn’t need to be thinking those thoughts.

“Well,” Dom gasped, dropping the boy’s hand like a hot potato and taking a step away, back into safer territory. “There you go, then. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight.” The boy smiled, understanding, and turned to go. Dom walked him to the door and shut it behind him, with a mix of feelings he couldn’t even begin to sort out. He didn’t think he’d ever felt so simultaneously relieved and disappointed. There was a large part of him that simply wanted to slam the boy against the wall of the loft and fuck him, hard, until that pretty smirking mouth was open and gasping, and the chills on his skin were from sweat of a different cause.

But the softer, smaller voice of sanity whispered that Dom couldn’t do shit like that anymore, couldn’t have sex with anyone, not ever again, because no matter what precautions he took or how much AZT he pumped into his system, it would never, ever be safe. He was a leper. He was the plague. People who fucked him would die, and he never forgot that, not even when a beautiful boy was in his flat, looking at him with big blue eyes and an invitation to do as he pleased.

This was why he never went out. It hurt too much to be surrounded by temptation.

There was another knock on his door, and he had no illusions about who it was this time; wondered how far the boy had gotten down the hall before his precious candle had blown out. For a moment he considered ignoring it, but that would be uncharitable, and stupid besides; the boy already knew he was here.

“Hey,” he said, swinging the door open with the matchbook still ready in his hand. “I’ve only got one…”

The boy pushed past him, shaking his head. “My…I lost my…fuck.” He ran a hand through cropped hair, pulling the strands into artfully-gelled disarray. “My baggie.” His eyes were honest when he looked at Dom, his tone as blunt as his words. “My stash. I dropped it, it had to be in here.”

“Your…” Dom blinked, and then looked at the floor. The boy was already stooping, half-crouched to pick through what litter there was on the floor, and the leather of his pants stretched around his arse, perfectly curved and mouth-watering. Dom tried to tear his eyes away and found that he was physically incapable of doing so.

“See something you like?” the boy’s voice asked, rich and low, full of humour. Dom yanked his eyes away like he’d been burned, and saw the smile on the boy’s face. _Fucker_ , he thought, furious at the heat rising yet again in his face. _He did that on purpose._

“Have we met?” he asked suddenly, crossing his arms and trying not to betray his discomfort. “I think I remember you from somewhere.”

The boy’s look said, _oldest line in the book, try another,_ but he just shrugged. “I work at Cock of the Walk, on 53rd. I’m a cage dancer.”

“Oh.” Dom’s brain took a moment to process that information, while unhelpfully supplying images of the boy grinding against a pole clad in nothing but supple leather trousers and glitter. “Right, I might have…might have seen you there.”

A knowing look this time, and the tiniest hint of a smile. “Yeah, I thought you might.”

Dom coughed, and looked away. “I, uh…you’re the one with the…” His cheeks were burning now, and the boy’s look was nothing but amused at his embarrassment, no shame in his smile. “The handcuffs, right? They, um, they tie you up and stuff.” He demonstrated, a little hip-thrust with his wrists crossed that made him feel even more like an idiot, but the boy only laughed.

“I told you I didn’t mind,” he said, and Dom was having a hard time willing away his erection. To distract himself from the images he looked down, and concentrated on scrupulously searching the floor without actually seeing anything that was in front of his eyes.

He saw the tip of a black boot then, and followed it up a leather-clad leg, past – he swallowed – a too-tempting bulge at the crotch, and all the way up to the softly smiling face of his blue-eyed visitor, who was currently standing altogether too close for comfort.

“Why don’t you join me?” the boy asked, a siren-song with his lips so close to Dom’s, so soft and sweet. “I can stretch it into enough for two. I’ll let you…” His eyes flickered down briefly, and then his hand was on Dom’s crotch; not moving, just resting lightly, cupping him. “…try what they do to me at the club.”

For a moment Dom couldn’t think at all, short-circuited by the soft, warm press of fingers against his erection through denim and eyes that took up the entire field of his vision, inviting him to take, use, enjoy.

Then reality came flooding back, and he shoved the boy’s hand away too roughly. “Don’t,” he said sharply, shaking off the lingering ache from such brief contact. “I don’t do that shit anymore. How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough.” The boy matched him in tone and expression, so crisp that Dom could almost have trouble believing he was the same kid who’d gone all sex-kitten on him only a moment before. “You’re not my parent, so don’t fucking start with me.”

They just stared at each other for a moment, and then the boy turned away. Dom searched for something to say and could only come up with meaningless empathy. “I’ve been there,” he said honestly, praying the kid would actually listen to him; if not now, then one day before his habit killed him. “It doesn’t have to be like this, I swear. There are programs…”

“Spare me,” the boy said shortly, and there was still a bite in his tone, but also weariness, like he’d had this conversation with himself before and lost the argument. “Just help me find the stuff and I’ll be out of your hair, okay? Please.”

“I don’t want…” Dom whispered, but then he saw it, and made the decision before he could second-guess, scooping up the tiny baggie and stashing it in his back pocket. The boy looked around at him, and Dom shook his head, his face flushed from the lie. “Nothing.”

“Hmm.” The boy dusted off his hands and stood, coming close enough to invade Dom’s personal space. “It’s getting dark,” he murmured, while Dom stood hypnotized by the way his eyes caught the moonlight through the window. “We should light the candle again, to help us search.”

Dom’s mouth felt like it was full of mothballs, stale and dry. “I’m out of matches,” he lied, the matchbook slipping up into his curled palm to keep it from sight. The boy didn’t look fooled, but he didn’t challenge the statement; just took a step forward – definitely invading Dom’s personal space now – and ran his fingertips down Dom’s chest.

“So, how about it?” the boy murmured, eyes heavy and seductive in the dim light, face tilted up to make it easy, so easy for Dom to just lean down and kiss…

“How about what?” Dom asked thickly, as the boy wound around him like a serpent, pressing their hips together and stroking his soft fingers down Dom’s arms, his back. He couldn’t think with the boy this close, filling his nostrils with an unfamiliar scent, looking up at him like he was the answer to a prayer and a fantasy combined. His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe.

“Want me to stay?” the boy whispered, breath hot on Dom’s neck, leaning in close so that their chests brushed. “You can tie me up. You can do whatever you want to me. I’ll even dance for you.”

Dom clamped his lips down tight on the moan that tried to rise from his throat, and kept his hands from finding a hold on the boy’s hips and pulling him closer still. _AZT_ , he thought fiercely. _Fucking AIDS. Don’t fucking do this._

“Maybe another time,” he heard himself say, and it hurt almost as much as the brief flare of surprise and disappointment in the boy’s eyes, before he shrugged off the rejection.

“Your loss,” the boy said, and turned away, hips swaying as he walked across the loft. Dom let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and followed him to the door.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, because it was a burning need in him now, to know what to call this creature who would undoubtedly be featuring in his wanking fantasies for months. “What’s your name?”

The full lips curled up, a teasing smile. “Call me Elijah,” he murmured; eyes on Dom’s, more than a hidden invitation in his gaze. Desire rose up in Dom like a wave, threatening to pull him under. He groped for the door handle, yanked it open in his haste to put distance and solid barriers between them.

Elijah hesitated, started to pass, and then turned back at the last moment, just when Dom was breathing a sigh of relief, and pressed their lips together, hard and brief. His hands cupped Dom’s arse, pulling them flush against each other, and arousal was a giddy ride that lasted for every impossible second until Elijah pulled away with a rueful grin and disappeared down the dark hallway.

Dom closed the door and leaned heavily against it, his head hitting the wood with a dull thump. His eyes flew open a moment later and he reached back, remembering…

But it was too late. Baggie – and boy – were both gone.


End file.
